


I Don't Want a Lot for Christmas

by i_am_girlfriday



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas Party, M/M, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 15:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2856092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_girlfriday/pseuds/i_am_girlfriday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The whole pack is worried about Stiles’ fragile self-esteem, so they take it upon themselves to be extra affectionate with him at the Christmas party he hosts. Stiles is confused, and Derek is just pissed off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Want a Lot for Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> This is for connorwalshme who prompted me on Tumblr. Merry Christmas! I'm finishing this right under the wire!
> 
> This is unbetaed, but hopefully in not too bad of shape.

Stiles has a rough start to the Fall semester. He took his breakup with his first college boyfriend back in August really hard. He could barely eat or sleep for weeks, and when he could finally function again, he just wasn’t the same. He didn’t have the same energy he used to, and a part of him felt like he’d never be the same again. The pack stopped asking _What’s wrong?_ sometime in the middle of September.

***

Starting in October, Stiles suddenly has a lot of out of town visitors--Isaac and Scott or Erica, Boyd, and Cora come up on alternating weekends and crash on his couch. Allison sends care packages, and once, Chris Argent delivers a mille-fueille in person and claims he was in the area on “business.” Lydia Skypes him at least twice a week, and she purses her lips at Stiles, which he knows is her way of expressing fond emotions. Kira lends Stiles her favorite comic books. Malia takes down a whole deer and makes a giant batch of venison jerky just for Stiles. Jackson ropes Stiles into text fights, sometimes he just sends a _fuck you_ to Stiles on Tuesday afternoons when Jackson knows he’s in class. Danny takes Stiles out for a night in the Castro in November, and he doesn’t even complain when Stiles asks to go home before midnight.

Stiles appreciates all the gestures his packmates make to cheer him up, but there’s one pack member who is conspicuously absent from Stiles’ life. Derek has a hundred excuses that keep him from visiting or returning texts and emails. He has to fix the hole in wall in the loft, and decides to renovate the kitchen while he’s at it. He breaks his phone twice, his computer gets a virus, and he forgets his Gmail password. When Stiles makes it home for Thanksgiving, Derek literally has a sign on his door that says _gone fishing_. When Stiles asks the others about Derek’s behavior, they all roll their eyes affectionately. Cora just calls her brother a human disaster and laughs.

By the end of Fall semester, Stiles musters the energy to pull three A minuses and one B plus. It’s his worst semester ever, but his dad still insists on taking him out for a celebratory steak dinner when he gets home for winter break. His father’s unyielding love and support rallies his spirits, and Stiles decides to put on a big party a few days before Christmas for the whole pack to show them his gratitude. 

Stiles makes handmade snowflake invitations and indicates that ugly sweaters are optional. Stiles plans a hot chocolate bar like Allison showed him on Pinterest, and asks Isaac for cocktail recipes. His dad digs out the Christmas decorations from the attic, and they get an actual tree that they cut down from a farm. Usually they put up a shitty little fake plastic tree or they pick up a sad Charlie Brown tree from a parking lot. Stiles hangs artificial mistletoe that he picked up at the craft store everywhere--just because he’s the only one not getting any doesn’t mean his friends who are in various romantic relationships shouldn’t get lucky.

Jackson, Danny, and Lydia are the first to arrive. “Merry Christmas!” Danny and Lydia cheer together. They both greet Stiles with affectionate squeezes, but Jackson just frowns and hands Stiles a bottle of Dom Pérignon. 

“Your Christmas lights look tacky, Stilinski,” he says as he breezes through the doorway and into the foyer to hang up his expensive looking coat.

“Ignore him. He’s just sour because I’m going to Hawaii for New Year’s and my folks said he can’t come,” Danny explains.

“Whatever, I’m going to Aspen,” Jackson calls out. 

Danny raises his eyebrows and follows Jackson inside. Lydia hangs back in the foyer with Stiles. 

“What was that all about?” he asks her.

Lydia shakes her head. “It’s Jackson being Jackson.”

“You look festive,” Stiles comments on Lydia’s Christmas sweater, which is decided of the non-ugly variety.

“You can’t go wrong with a classic Fair Isle sweater,” Lydia says as she links her arm with Stiles’. “What’s a lady got to do to get a drink around here?”

Stiles laughs and escorts her to the kitchen to fix her a holiday cocktail. After one round, the doorbell rings again, but who ever is at the door lets themselves in. Scott, Isaac, Malia, Kira, and Allison wander into the living room and there’s more hugging and the house feels full of warmth and holiday cheer. Everyone tries to squish into the tiny Stilinski kitchen and more drinks get spilled than consumed. Stiles heads toward the laundry room off the side of the kitchen to get a mop. The kitchen is empty when he returns except for the mess on the floor, but the living room is full of people and someone’s put on the Christmas playlist Stiles queued up on his iPod. Derek, Cora, Boyd, and Erica arrive right when Scott, Kira, and Allison start singing and dancing to Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas.” Everyone shouts their hellos, except Derek who is fascinated by the Christmas tree in the corner.

Stiles makes quick work of the spilled cranberry pear cocktail and then returns the mop to the laundry room. When he gets back to the kitchen he goes to help Isaac who’s taken over as bartender. Isaac muddles the cranberry and pear and then adds the lime and simple syrup to a shaker. He measures a several jiggers of werewolf-approved gin and shakes the concoction. He pours the drinks into the mismatched champagne glasses that Stiles picked up at Good Will, and Stiles adds a float of ginger beer for fizz.

“They look great, Isaac. Good call on the recipe,” Stiles says and finds he means it. It must be the holiday spirit taking over if he and Isaac can work together without butting heads. Stiles threads cranberries on sprigs of rosemary.

“Here, let me,” Isaac says as he reaches in front of Stiles for the garnish. 

Isaac leans in for a kiss. It takes Stiles by surprise, but it’s not terrible as far as surprise kisses go.

“Huh?” Stiles asks inelegantly after Isaac pulls back.

“Mistletoe.” Isaac points to the cluster of leaves hanging over the kitchen cabinets and smiles.

“Right.” 

Isaac puts the drinks on a tray and heads into the living room to deliver them to their friends.

The night carries on in much the same fashion. Lydia kisses him while they’re loading up their plates in the kitchen, in between buttering her roll and Stiles pouring gravy on his meat. It’s sweet and slow, but friendly. Allison peppers his cheek with kisses when she passes by the cabinet to grab a bottle of wine. Stiles gets thoroughly Frenched by Erica on his way to the bathroom.

“What the hell, Erica?” Stiles asks as he wipes off red lipstick with the back of his hand.

“Aw, don’t be like that, Batman.” She hugs him from behind and presses her breasts against his back. “You don’t want me to be lonely under the mistletoe, do you?”

“Ordinarily, I’d find this incredibly sexy, but it’s kind of difficult when your boyfriend is glaring at me.” Stiles looks over at Boyd who isn’t exactly glaring, but he does look a little put out.

“He’s just jealous,” Cora says as she walks out of the bathroom and leans in for her own sloppy kiss and grabs a handful of Stiles’ ass.

Stiles maintains that he absolutely does not squeal like a girl. Derek looks on from the piano bench, and Stiles swears he sees his eyes flash blue.

And maybe Boyd is jealous of Erica and Cora, because when Stiles finishes up in the bathroom and heads out of the hallway, Boyd gives him a firm kiss on the lips.

Stiles pats Boyd’s bicep and just blinks at him a few times.

“Merry Christmas,” Boyd says and then disappears down the hallway.

Stiles shakes his head and decides he needs to consume at least a dozen kinds of dessert. The only thing that will make his confusion better is sugar. Stiles loads up a paper plate full of sweets, but before he can take a bite, Malia and Kira kiss him on his cheeks.

“It’s a Stiles sandwich,” Malia teases.

“And I’m the delicious center?” Stiles can’t help it if he flirts back. Even though he and Malia are over, and have been for a long time, they’re always going to be a little more _familiar_ with each other.

Kira huffs out a breath. “Mistletoe rules.” She reaches out for Malia’s hand. “Come on, babe, let’s go dance.”

“She likes Wham!” Malia explains.

“‘Last Christmas’ is a classic,” Stiles says.

Stiles shakes his head and tries to see if he can corner Derek, but he’s in the backyard with Liam and Mason, who arrived after dinner. Instead, he goes to find a spot next to Scott on the front porch. He’s watching Danny and Jackson play one-on-one basketball with the old hoop that hangs above the garage. 

“Stiles! Did you try the mille-fueille,” Scott scrunches up his face as he butchers the pronunciation of the French dessert, “I mean, the Napoleon thingy? Allison’s dad made it for the party!”

“Yeah, buddy. It’s really good.” Stiles takes a big bite of it.

“Hey, you’ve got a bit of cream,” Scott says and points to Stiles’ chin.

Before Stiles can attempt to wipe it away, Scott leans in and licks it up and then gives him a smacking kiss on the lips. 

Stiles looks up, and sure enough, there’s a sprig of mistletoe where he hung it over the porch. Stiles decides to shrug that one off. It’s just Scott being Scott. A few minutes later, Danny and Jackson decide to head back inside, and as they pass Stiles on the porch they each give him a kiss. Danny smells nice and his lips are soft, so that’s okay. But Jackson has had cooties since kindergarten and there is no universe in which they could exist where kissing Jackson wouldn’t be weird.

After the door shuts behind them, Stiles turns to Scott for an explanation. “Okay, what the hell is going on? Why is everyone kissing me?”

Scott just shrugs his shoulders and grins. “Mistletoe.”

“Okay, yeah, but Danny and Jackson didn’t kiss you, and you were standing right under it too.”

Scott shuffles his feet. “They kissed me earlier?” 

“You’re a terrible liar, Scott.”

Scott makes a face. “Well, the thing is, we all sort of decided that we like seeing you so happy and excited again. We didn’t want you to feel bad.”

“Why would I feel bad?”

“You know, because of the mistletoe.”

“Because of the mistletoe?”

“Because you’re sortofsingleandyouarereallysensitiveaboutit,” Scott says in a rush.

“Huh?” 

“You’s single, and it’s Christmas, and we know you’re sensitive about it. And it’s no fun to be at a party with a bunch of people who are dating each other. So we were, I don’t know, trying to compensate I guess. Maybe we got a little carried away,” Scott says sheepishly.

Stiles can feel the blush on his cheeks even in the chilly night air. “Oh.”

“We just want you to feel loved.”

Stiles wants to be mad or embarrassed for all the pity kisses, but it’s actually kind of sweet. Stiles has spent nearly the last five months moping about his breakup and being single again, and hasn’t spent nearly enough time appreciating how much love he has in his life.“You know...I’m not actually the only single person here.”

Scott rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but Derek’s an idiot.”

“I haven’t even gotten to hang out with him tonight. He’s been everywhere but around me.” Stiles tries not to sound hurt by it. At this point he’s sort of used to Derek ignoring him.

“I’m sorry,” Scott says. “Hey, I’ll be right back.” Scott heads back into the house, presumably to refill his drink or grab a sweater.

Stiles waits on the porch and looks at the blinking lights on the shrubs and the giant blow-up Santa on the lawn. Despite his friends’ odd behavior, Stiles is having a great night. The food is delicious, the drinks are flowing, and he has two more weeks of break ahead of him. The front door opens behind him, but it’s not Scott, it’s Derek. He’s bundled up in a leather jacket and his scarf, and his keys are in his hand like he’s leaving for the night.

“Trying to sneak out early?” Stiles asks.

Derek shrugs. “I didn’t think anyone would miss me.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. Stay. It’s only nine o’clock. It’s been ages since we hung out, and I haven’t even gotten to talk to you tonight.”

“Yeah, you’ve been a little,” Derek clears his throat, “preoccupied.”

“A host’s work is never done.”

“I wasn’t talking about that. I was talking about all the kissing.” Derek sounds aggravated.

Stiles feels the back of his neck get hot; the heat spreads to his ears, across his cheeks, and down his neck. “They meant well,” is all he can muster. 

“What are you talking about?”

Stiles wishes the ground would open up and swallow him, anything to get him out of this mortifying conversation. “The pack,” he flails his hand and decides to put his plate of cookies on the ground before he drops them, “they were afraid I’d get depressed about being single so they kissed me out of pity every time I stepped under the mistletoe.”

“Oh.”

Stiles can’t get a read on Derek, so tries to laugh it off. “Pathetic, huh?” 

Derek makes a throaty, non-committal noise. “You’re not still, depressed, are you?” 

Stiles shrugs his shoulders. Derek hasn’t been there for Stiles, and part of him wants to keep that vulnerable side hidden. The other part of him misses Derek, he even misses his stupid high school crush on Derek that he abandoned the summer after graduation.

Derek scuffs the heel of his boot on the edge of the porch and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m going to go.” 

Stiles swallows hard and nods. “Merry Christmas, Happy Birthday, and all that jazz, I guess.”

“Thanks,” Derek replies but stays rooted to the spot.

Stiles studies Derek under the glow of the twinkling Christmas lights. He’s beautiful like always, and it takes Stiles’ breath away. It’s easy to forget the exact shade of Derek’s eyes, the shape of his teeth, the thickness of his brows, and the timbre of his voice when Stiles doesn’t see him everyday. 

“Hey, Derek?” Stiles puts a hand on Derek’s forearm and points upward with his other. 

Derek looks at Stiles tentatively and then tilts his head up. “Mistletoe,” he finally says.

Stiles wonders if Derek can hear his heart trying to beat right out of his chest. “This is the part when you lean in and kiss me,” Stiles coaxes him. 

“I wasn’t in on the pack’s plan,” Derek says, but he doesn’t back away.

“Them’s the rules.” Stiles leans in a fraction of an inch closer.

Derek meets him more than half way. He pulls Stiles so their bodies are flush against each other and kisses him. This kiss is better than all the ones Stiles has had all evening, probably better than any previous kiss he’s had in his life. No, it’s definitely better. It’s soft, yet firm, with the right amount of tongue. When they pull apart, Derek’s pupils are blown wide, and it gives Stiles just enough confidence to lean in again and claim his mouth. Derek pushes him up against the side of house, and it’s perfect. It’s better than any fantasy Stiles has had because he can taste the peppermint on Derek’s tongue, and feel the pads of his fingers as they inch their way up Stiles’ back underneath his sweater.

In between kisses, Stiles praises the mistletoe. “If I had any idea hanging it would lead to this, I would have hung double the amount.”

Derek growls low and husky. “No. You’re taking it down and never hanging it again. I don’t want anyone kissing you but me.”

Stiles preens. “Oh, I see. You’re jealous.”

Derek reaches up and tilts Stiles’ head to the side to get better access to his neck. “Mine,” he says in between nipping at the delicate skin there.

Stiles doesn’t have a problem with that at all. It’s probably a little fast to be making such declarations, but it’s Derek and it’s him, and it feels right. “Yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from Mariah Carey's classic [All I Want for Christmas Is You](http://youtu.be/yXQViqx6GMY).


End file.
